


Three in the Morning

by JeffandMarty



Category: Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) (1969)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 13:25:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16119383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeffandMarty/pseuds/JeffandMarty
Summary: Jeff goes to a familiar place to reflect.





	Three in the Morning

It was three in the morning, and for some unearthly reason Jeff found himself walking to the spot where he and Marty used to sit when they wanted to be alone from the rest of the world.

It was a strange little place really; down the alleyway between Mrs Tatlow’s house and the old man, who shouted at kids if he saw them there, up on the roof of the outhouse that nobody went in anymore since Marty broke a hole in the roof trying to impress Jeff with his acrobatic abilities (which, in hindsight, were pretty good up until he tried to do a handstand and fell straight through). 

You had to clamber up the bins to reach it – a small feat that he achieved easily these days. Jeff remembered when he had to struggle up to the top, almost falling off, but Marty would catch him by the arm and haul him up each time. Marty was taller than him, then.

It was a surreal feeling. Being back there after so many years, after so many changes. 

Jeff paused as he heard a sound.

With practised furtiveness, he kneeled on the bin lid and peered, just over the top of the gutter, just enough to see. It was a man, sitting there, his white suit stark in the moonlight, creating an almost ethereal glow.

“Marty?” Jeff whispered; brave enough now to poke his head into clear view, “What are you doing here?”

Marty looked up in surprise, quickly rubbing a sleeve over his eyes as he realised who it was. He looked terrible – well, as terrible as you could look when you were already dead. 

He turned away again. “Jeff, I- I didn’t know you were here. I was just… thinking.”

Jeff had hauled himself up onto the roof so that they were both sitting on either side of the hole. He was worried about Marty; there was something in his voice, something distant, something that told Jeff he wasn’t just thinking. And although he usually didn’t know what the ghost got up to while he was sleeping, he could tell this wasn’t a normal night. I mean, he himself was up walking here at three in the bloody morning – and he had work tomorrow – so something must have drawn them both to this place.

“Come on Marty,” Jeff cooed, “If something’s not right, you can tell me. I mean, who else are you going to tell?”

He almost immediately regretted that last statement, however, as Marty turned his face towards Jeff so that he could see the subtle redness around his eyes. Note to self: ghosts can cry, apparently.

Jeff’s brow furrowed. “Marty, what’s wrong?”

“I just- I just keep thinking about… everything. About how I’m dead, rotting in the ground somewhere. How I can’t touch things, I can’t eat, or drink, or – I can’t ever hold my wife, and kiss her, tell her I love her, tell her anything. About how the only person I can ever talk to is you!”

Marty spat the last few words, meaner than he’d intended – and he could see the hurt on Jeff’s face at the remark.

“I’m sorry Jeff. You’re not that bad, really, and I can talk to other people as well, psychics and the like. It just… gets to me sometimes. I’m sorry.”

The ghost buried his face in his knees, and Jeff wanted more than anything in the world just to be able to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I understand, Marty. I can’t imagine how awful it must be not being able to talk to Jeannie, or for her to even know you exist. I’m sorry, I really am, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Marty nodded. “It’s fine, Jeff. I know. I’ll just have to live with it – or, I guess, _not live_ with it.”


End file.
